


Double-Handed

by Aja



Series: Author's faves [10]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Ocean, sailboats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9711824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aja/pseuds/Aja
Summary: Arthur buys a boat.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Avacyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avacyn/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day, Avacyn! We're so delighted to have you in our lovely little fandom and I hope you stick around a while! :)

The boat is magnificent: huge and showy when she’s sitting by the dock, forty feet of gleaming white hull and polished wooden decks, twin masts jutting upward and grabbing the eye of everyone who passes by the harbor. Eames doesn’t know boats, but he knows this one must have cost Arthur a fortune. 

It feels significant when Arthur invites him aboard, so he tries not to fuck it up by getting seasick or accidentally calling it a yacht or a ship by mistake. Arthur calls her a ketch and names her The Malcontent, and Eames doesn’t say a word about lost memories and conjured tributes. In the water, she becomes a sleek, silvery thing, yar and delicate when she greets the slosh of the waves out in Monterey Bay, and Eames’ fondness for her increases with every bright yellow cocktail he makes and consumes from the well-stocked pantry below deck. Arthur accepted a gooey purple concoction Eames whipped up just for him, and he only made a face on the first sip before primly drinking it down, so Eames considers it a major victory.

Arthur’s arms are corded thick with muscles as he tugs on ropes and barks commands to Eames that Eames barely understands. He’s mostly gotten port and starboard down, and fore and aft are easy enough, but leeward and windward are trickier, and when Arthur asks him to brace the topgallant of the mizzen mast, Eames just stares at him.

“I know you’re speaking English, darling,” he says, “but I confess I felt safer when you were grunting and scowling at ropes and I was just letting you do all the work.”

To his delight, Arthur laughs. “Right now, your only other way back to shore is by lifeboat, Mr. Eames,” he says. “You’ll either have to learn how to row or learn how to work the sails.”

“This is kidnapping,” says Eames, barely fighting off the impulse to run his hand over Arthur’s loose curls, burnished by the sun glinting off them, damp from the spray of the ocean. “You’ve shanghaied me.”

Arthur cocks his head. “Hmm,” he says. “Actually, it’s your word against mine.”

Eames feigns affront. “You wouldn’t dare. I’d tell the jury how you ambushed me. You lured me aboard with promises of free alcohol, then press-ganged me into servitude.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and tugs on one of the ropes that releases the topsail, which comes fluttering down from its perch high overhead. 

“Please,” he says. “You’re clearly a stowaway. I found you lurking in the cabin, raiding my liquor cabinet.” 

Eames goes to him, then, can’t help but go to him, is and will always be forever making his way to Arthur across the deck of this ship or anywhere else on earth, and traps him against the ropes of the railing. He presses against Arthur’s back, and Arthur lets him, lets Eames crowd against him and slot their bodies together, lets Eames folds himself around Arthur’s sinewy curves, dipping his head against Arthur’s shoulder and curling into him with a sigh.

“I’m stuck,” he says, feeling helpless, overwhelmed by the way the wavecaps seem to shift from purple to cobalt to brilliant turquoise as he watches, amazed by the gift Arthur has asked him to share, the experience of taking this boat, the prize of a lifetime, for its first run. “Now that you have me here you’ll have to keep me.”

Arthur leans back against him. He runs his hand over Eames’ arm where Eames has tucked it around his waist.

“Eames,” he says softly. “When I got this boat, I had a choice. I was thinking about this or a sloop.”

Eames likes to think he’s learned when it’s important to shut up and listen to Arthur without interrupting him, so he tightens his grip and presses closer without a word.

“Sloops are fast,” Arthur says. “Small. Pretty simple. And they’re perfect if you’re sailing by yourself because they only have one mast.” He shifts in Eames’ embrace and turns to face him. 

“I didn’t have to get a boat with two masts,” he says.

“Two masts means two people,” Eames blurts, enlightened.

Arthur’s smile is brilliant.

“Anchors aweigh, Mr. Eames,” he says, and Eames blurts, “Darling, I will be the best stowaway you’ve ever _heard of_ ,” and kisses him against the answering brilliance of the sun cresting off the bright blue waves.


End file.
